Note: Hello all! I've been wanting to try writing fanfiction again, and I couldn't resist getting back into my absolute favorite fandom, Bully. I'm working on a longer chapter story that I'm thinking of calling Cohort of Jimmy's Angry Exes. In it, I'm having a straight Pete (gasp). So, I decided to get some practice and work out my GaryXPetey obsession with this little crack fic. Any feedback is more than welcome. :)

I Now Pronounce You Daddy Smith

Five hundred and eighteen hours ago, he was just a cute face and a tight ass that happened to pass him at the club. Five hundred and nine hours ago, he was just a one night stand that Gary was hungry enough to allow to stay and cook breakfast. Now there were more of Kowalski's clothes than his own hanging in the master suite's closet. The small man with the great ass in question was trying on ties in front of Gary's mirror. He periodically looked back at Gary who was sprawled out shirtless on top of his California king bed, rubbing a hand over the top of his goose down comforter. "What about this one?" Pete asked, turning around and showing off a pink and silver striped silk tie now adorning his white button up shirt.

"That would be another one of mine."

"Oh," Pete chuckled a little and began to pull it. His hands stopped before the knot budged enough to become loose. "I can't even remember which ones are yours or mine anymore. I like this one; it's nice. Where did you get it?"

"Just wear the freaking thing!" Gary snapped.

Gary had to wonder if the free breakfast was worth the hassle he was forced to deal with now. For whatever reason, Kowalski thought that after three weeks of so-called dating it was high time to drag his son into the mess. And what better way to meet the man he was currently screwing's snotty brat than to have brunch? Kids, as well as thirty something year olds, love nothing more than waking up early on a Sunday to put on formal wear.

Kowalski crossed the room, bouncing with each step, to Gary and planted a swift kiss on his cheek. "Thanks!" he chirped with a smile. Gary waved him off with a clumsy hand. "I'd better get back to the food. Don't forget to put a shirt on!"

An array of smells floated through the condo not too long after Kowalski finished getting dressed. Some were sweet, some savory, but they all reminded the partially awake Gary of the divine pancakes he was made after a night of drunken sex. The man had brought him a plate of precisely stacked pancakes all identical in size and shape. Thin as crepes, yet still somehow fluffy. Topped with crème fraiche and twists of orange. Gary had to admit the man knew his way around his seldom used kitchen. If it wasn't for the firsthand experience proving otherwise, he would have thought he was a woman. Hell, Petey even had feminine hips to boot.

Gary decided it was time to pull himself out of his bed when the intercom rudely buzzed. He heard a muffled conversation between Pete and a woman. By the time he was stumbling down into the sunken living room, the woman was wrapping on the other side of his door. Pete clucked his tongue as he ran to the door. "Hey! You didn't even put on a shirt." Gary continued his way to his designer couch and plopped down onto it. It had little give and he regretted this action immediately. "Gary," Pete whined. When he didn't respond, the smaller man shook his head and opened the door.

"Peter," a nasally voice greeted. "Couldn't you have found a man that lived on a lower floor?"

Gary narrowed his eyes. "Anything below the twentieth floor doesn't have this kind of view," he grumbled, not caring if he was heard or not.

"You mean it's a highly inconvenient status symbol that some attribute to wealth and power."

"Beatrice," Pete sighed.

"It smells nice in here at any rate. I take it that was your doing?" the woman asked Kowalski.

He questioned in return, "Where's Jim?"

"Yes, I nearly forgot. He's down in the car. Said something about not wishing to waste his time. Given your recent track record, I find myself agreeing with his sentiment."

A frustrated noise came from Kowalski. He announced that he would go get his son, but, before leaving, asked the woman to remove something from the oven when it buzzed and for Gary to put on his shirt.

With a groan, Gary forced himself off the couch once Pete left. He scratched at the back of his head while the woman openly stared. She was a mousy little thing. Big beehive hair and pointy glasses. She looked like she stepped right out of the fifties. "Hello. I'm Beatrice. Dr. Beatrice Trudeau. And I take it you're Gary Smith?"

He stared at her silently. She did the same to him. While he wondered how the man who'd been clinging to him recently had ever found that woman attractive enough to breed with, she was obviously taking in his bared chest. Nobody could blame her. He treated his body better than he'd ever treated another human being. Three hours a day in the gym downstairs and a strict diet had gifted him a temple that many a man had sought after.

"Doctor, huh? Of what?"

"I'm currently leading a clinical research team dedicated to eradicating an airborne strand of the Heffing's virus. And what is it that you do? It must be something grand for it to allow you to live in this lap of showboating luxury while someone who works tirelessly to save lives has trouble paying off their student loans. Peter mentioned it once, but it's hard for me to recall; there's been so many of you."

Gary remained largely undisturbed by the bitter woman's comments. Although many would disagree, he did work hard to afford all the pretty little things in his life, like his custom furniture, his high-rise condo, and the electric fire pit he recently had installed on his spacious balcony overlooking the city. And he had all of these things without buying into the lie about the importance of a higher education.

"I work as a campaign manager."

"So you fabricate lies for a living."

"Ah yes, I seem to have a gift for convincing the mouth breathers to fall over themselves for inbred pompous legatees. Some might call it a curse, but," he waved his arms. "All this would disagree."

Gary had thought about going into politics himself. In fact, he'd dreamed about it for a time. He could manipulate people easily enough and had no moral compass of which to speak. Unfortunately, the general public didn't exactly feel instant trust towards a man, no matter how suave and good-looking they were, with a large facial scar. Even as a behind the scenes puppeteer he got too many questions about the slash over his eye. No, he couldn't exactly make it as a politician, but no worries. It was better to be the person raking in the exorbitant salary and being able to do with it whatever he pleased. His current client couldn't do the same.

An unfamiliar electric chiming went off in the open kitchen. "I suppose I'll have to get that," Beatrice said when he did nothing about the noise. She marched to the oven and, after retrieving a quilted mitt he'd never seen before in his life from the counter, pulled out a puffed egg and cheesy looking thing. Gary's stomach grumbled. He pressed a hand to his hard abdomen. There wasn't a reason to let the female know the power Kowalski's cooking had over him.

The food situation taken care of, Beatrice wandered throughout his open concept living area. She studied every picture, every stone decorative object, every untouched book he had on display. When she made it to his glass balcony doors, she stopped and looked out at his immaculate view. With a smirk, he joined her. "Certainly makes the twenty-third floor more appealing, doesn't it?"

"I suppose if you find gawking at the proof of mankind dominating the planet each day enjoyable, then, yes, it would be."

Gary rolled his eyes. Where was Pete? How long does it take to get a kid out of the car? And what kind of mother leaves their child unattended in the city anyways? He looked at Beatrice and had his question answered.

The doctor turned away from the window and set her level gaze on him. "I can help you rid yourself of him, if you'd like. As I'm sure you've realized by now, Peter has a crippling nesting problem. I believe it's brought on by a lack of maternal attention in his youth."

"What?" Gary chuckled. "Are you telling me it's not the norm for someone to move themselves into someone else's home without permission after one screw session?"

"You're not the first person he's prematurely attached himself to like lichen to a juniper." She sighed. "Jimmy would do well with his father staying with us again anyways. So, simply let me know and I'll have a word with Peter."

Vibrations began to tickle his ass. Gary slipped his phone out of his back pocket and read the words, "Inbred Scum" flashing on the screen. "I'm going to take this. Please, enjoy the view."

Inside of his bedroom, he answered his phone with, "Smith."

"Gary thank goodness you finally decided to answer! You only kept me on for five rings."

He rolled his eyes. Gary tucked his cellphone between his shoulder and his ear, using his free hands to begin shuffling through shirts in his closet. Only recently had they fallen out of their color coded positions. Now they struggled for room amongst Pete's Walmart clothes. Poor things. "What do you need, Vendome?"

"I am having a complete conniption and it is all your fault! I'm looking at my schedule and I see that you've lost my gig on Jeffry Davis' Hello America. Why on Earth would you cancel that?"

"Because they were putting you on after the one armed child who saved his family from a raging house fire. You said, and this is an exact quote, 'I'll simply die if they force me to speak to that gimpy pauper child!'"

"Well, I wasn't being literal!"

"Now that's exactly what I feared; if you died, then at least I'd have a scandal free excuse to leave you."

"Oh ha ha! You are so very funny. I am beside myself with laughter." Gord Vendome was, in fact, not. "Listen here: I am the best chance you've got to get someone into the senate. Daddy is simply throwing money at you, and he will be expecting results. How are you going to obtain them if you go canceling my national spotlights?"

"Relax yourself Vendome. Why don't you pull your panties out of the bunch you've twisted them in and try reading one of the many emails I've sent you?"

"Oh that's my assistant's job of course."

"Then you've got staffing problems. I've been sending you a revised agenda every day for the past two weeks. If anyone in your camp decided to read the most recent one, you would see that I so brilliantly snagged you a longer guest appearance on that very same show less than three weeks before the election."

"Oh thank you Smith! That is excellent news! How did you ever accomplish such a thing?"

"It's part of your wedding tour."

"Wedding tour? You mean I actually have to marry that icky rake?"

"That is what usually happens when you propose to someone. Don't make me remind you what giving that rock to Pinky at the beginning of the debate did to your numbers." Gary pulled the phone away for a moment to whistle. That had been a particularly brilliant move on his part. Nobody would ever elect a fruit, not in their state at least. A soon to be family man that treats his well-bred stock—er, fiancée—like a queen pulls in interest from all around. Thank the public education system that the average Joe can't name who their senators are, let alone tell you what they represent. The theatrical wedding between Gord and Pinky would garner more public support than his views on tax reform would ostracize.

Gary returned to searching for a shirt that would rub his wealth in that woman's face while not making himself completely lame in Pete's son's eyes. He settled on a silver collared thing made out of a slippery material. Gord continued to nag in his ear. He then moved on to propositioning him. With a sigh, Gary presumed that the easy days of being able to appease clients with his sexual prowess was over. At least for the time being.

He cut the phone call short when he heard the front door open. Nimble fingers finished off the last shirt button while he came out of the hallway and into the living room. "Hey," he began to greet before setting eyes on the kid.

Calling that thing a kid was stretching it tighter than a hairnet on a lunch lady.

Jimmy was huge! Not in the fat kind of way (although he was a bit hefty). Judging by Kowalski's boyish face, he hadn't expected his kid to be older than eight or nine. There was an almost adult man standing in his entryway. An almost adult man in grungy clothes and the most atrocious home-done ginger buzz cut he'd ever seen.

"Jesus Pete," he exclaimed. "How old is he?"

Pete rubbed the back of his head and forced a laugh while his kid, who stood taller, snarled his lip. "Uh, well Gary, this is my son, Jimmy. And Jim, this is Gary."

Jimmy narrowed his beady little eyes.

Gary repeated his question to which Pete answered, "Fifteen."

"How is that even possible?"

"He impregnated me when we were sophomores in high school," Beatrice explained. "On a dare."

"T-That's not exactly right!" Kowalski stammered. His face reddened while his son got all the more pissy looking. "I didn't try to get you pregnant; I just wanted to prove to the guys that I wasn't gay!"

The miserable teen and slightly bewildered campaign manager snorted at the same time.

"It was a confusing time!"

Beatrice rolled her bespectacled eyes. "Made all the better by having an illegitimate son."

Apparently Jimmy had had enough, because the stocky fifteen year old decided to stomp through the condo, keeping his dirtied sneakers on, and went out onto the balcony with the great view. The sliding glass door was slammed behind him.

Gary forced a smile to cover the fact that his heart stopped for a moment thinking that the hand etched glass would shatter. "Well, you know what they say. Bastards help you through the hard times."

While the pieces of brunch cooled around his kitchen, Gary watched from the couch as each of the boy's parents attempted to sway him to come inside. Their muted arguments amused him for a time. Then his stomach began to growl again and he grew impatient. "Let me have a whack at him," Gary growled at Pete when he came inside after another failed attempt.

Jimmy hocked a loogie when Gary stepped out onto the spacious balcony. The mucus spit pile splattered against the painted wood, drying quickly in the warm nearly noon sun. "Get inside!" he barked at the 'kid' after he closed the door gently.

"Really?" Jimmy snorted. "That's what you're going with?"

"I don't need to waste anything better; you're just some punk teenager that I have to put up with for a few hours."

His beady eyes flashed a moment of hurt before becoming even smaller with anger. "This is all bullshit! Why do I have to get dragged into dumb things like this? You're just some loser who's doing my dad. I don't want to meet you."

"If I'm a loser, then what makes you so great? When I was your age, I was already on my second institution, having destroyed the careers of several prestigious psychiatrists at the first. You're still living with your mommy, following her around wherever she goes."

The bull headed teen just gave a short laugh. "Is that supposed to impress me?"

For one of the few times in his life, Gary was at a loss for words. He blamed his hungry stomach and a general lack of care towards the teenager and his mother. He'd worn a good shirt for this? Gary watched as the kid walked past his outdoor seating area, half afraid he was going to do something stupid like kick it. The chubby guy didn't even spare a glance for his new fire pit. He strode right to the glass railing and leaned onto it. Gary held in a comment about not breaking it and falling to his death.

"This view isn't bad," the teen commented.

Gary wanted to shake him. He wanted to scream in his stupid little punk face that of course it wasn't bad. It was immaculate! It was a view worth 2.7 million dollars of hard earned cash and getting a totally inadequate washed up actor elected as a mayor to a city that could have really used someone who knew a thing or two about anything to lead it! It was the view that had impressed the boy's tipsy father so much that he wept and declared himself in love right on the spot. And it was also the view that had distracted Gary to the point that he ignored that very apparent red flag that night.

Gary sighed. "Yeah, it's alright."

"I'm probably never going to see it again. You're gonna see that Dad's a basket case and dump him like everyone else."

Briefly, the image of those perfectly constructed pancakes drifted through his mind. Then their creator did. The awkward feminine man Gary, who never settled for anything less than absolute perfection, had held in the night air and listened to cry about his sloppy mess of a life.

"No, you'll probably come around here again sometime. Unfortunately."